<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Predilection by Enisy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273919">Predilection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy'>Enisy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>19th Century, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Austria, Childhood Friends, First Time, Germany, Infidelity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Royalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:46:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the adult-dominated court and his strict military training, <em>naturally</em> Fredric attached himself to the first boy his age who came along. Duke de Jonge was not worried.</p><p>(Duchess de Jonge was worried out of her <em>wits</em>.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Royal Who’s About to Get Arranged-Married/The Brother of His Fiancée</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Predilection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/gifts">plastics</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/">scribblemyname</a> for beta-reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air inside the barouche was hot and stale, but Fredric didn’t seem to notice as he spoke animatedly about the morning’s excursion. Climbing the hills had been most amusing, and he’d lost his footing only once. Lake Barmsee had boasted more water than any of the Austrian counterparts he’d seen to date. He’d eaten a raw mushroom. He’d seen a fox!</p><p>His bride-to-be was a supporting character in the Tale of the Raw Mushroom – having been whisked home with a stomachache after undertaking the same feat – so she came up once or twice in this disquisition, too.</p><p>Her brother came up… more.</p><p>“Did you see how Max ran down that incline without tripping?” Fredric told his father. “I have never seen anyone do that before! I didn’t think myself capable of the same, so I took the stone steps instead. He advised me on which mushroom to eat, too, but he didn’t tell Henrietta, for he says he doesn’t love her well enough.”</p><p>“And what of Henrietta?” the duke prodded gently. “Is she not charming and clever?”</p><p>Fredric shrugged his shoulders. “She is a girl.” Picking up where he had left off, he said: “Max knew the names of every bird at the lake! The duck with the strange black bill is called a <em>northern shoveler</em>, and the tweets we heard came from –”</p><p>The duke listened to his son with half an ear. This first meeting with the von Wildersteins had been a qualified success: Fredric was clearly enamored with his fiancée’s family, although he did not seem persuaded by the fiancée herself. No matter. It was to be expected. Between the adult-dominated court at Dietrichburg and his strict military training, <em>naturally</em> Fredric attached himself to the first boy his age who came along.</p><p>Horsehooves thumped and wheels clattered as their carriage made headway toward Austria. The Bavarian mountains cut a soft green silhouette in the distance: they were decked by clouds, but those seemed incidental, like laurel leaves in a bowl of soup. They were easy to spot… and easy to extract. Duke de Jonge was not worried.</p><p> </p><p class="western">👑</p><p> </p><p>Duchess de Jonge was worried out of her <em>wits</em>.</p><p>When she had let slip that they’d be paying another call to Streitsee Castle, she had been cheered by the pleasure on her son’s face. And on their first night there, when he had danced the waltz with Henrietta during the evening gathering, keeping rhythm so splendidly and grinning, she had rejoiced at the felicity of the match. The von Wildersteins may be descended from a collateral line, rather than the Bavarian royal house, but their pure, unaffected air recommended them to her. Besides, Henrietta herself was lovely, with a top-notch upbringing that included violin, court etiquette, and three foreign languages. She was heartened to see that Fredric thought the same.</p><p>This cheerful yarn would come somewhat loose by the sixth song, <em>Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke</em>, when she noted Fredric was no longer in the parlor. And it would completely unravel by <em>Herzenlust</em>, when, having stepped out to reaffix the jewels in her hair, the duchess heard laughter coming from another room.</p><p>Curious, she set forth toward the source. Strauss’s notes followed her down the hallway, light and mincing, like sparrows hopping in a thumb-thick puddle. She ended up before the open doorway of a guest room.</p><p>Fredric was inside.</p><p>With Maximilian.</p><p>Dancing a <em>polka</em>.</p><p>There was no use in standing here and gawking. “Fredric,” she said shortly. “Come and relieve your cousin at the piano, if you please.”</p><p>By far the worst of it – worse than the laughter or the practiced ease of their dance, indicating a history of repeats – was that Fredric did not seem chastened by her presence. As he left the room, the glance he gave her was pure steel, like a gauntlet thrown down for a duel. Only Maximilian had the grace to look embarrassed, wringing his hands and putting a respectable distance between them as he exited the room.</p><p>Bitterly, the duchess reflected she had not been wrong in that, at least.</p><p>The von Wilderstein children had a top-notch upbringing.</p><p> </p><p class="western">👑</p><p> </p><p>Gossip flourished in the court of Dietrichburg. Newcomers would doubtless find it stifling, but it was quite the opposite. By airing their grievances in private, both servants and courtiers could breathe a bit more easily in their demanding public life. The dust of scandalous affairs and scathing nicknames, which had so thoroughly blocked up their throats, whirled away to congest someone else’s body.</p><p>Ladies-in-waiting were <em>excellent</em> gossipers.</p><p>“Did you hear? Lord Maximilian is accompanying his sister again.”</p><p>“You mean to say that <em>s</em><em>he</em> is accompanying <em>him</em>. He visits far more often than she does.”</p><p>“I saw him on the northern balcony two hours ago. He had that horrid bird with him – on my word, I swear he only carries it around to annoy the camarilla.”</p><p>“There shall not be a camarilla for much longer. As soon as the father shuffles off this earth, the son will do away with them, to be sure.”</p><p>“That’s true. Lord Fredric only ever listens to his brother-in-law. <em>Prospective</em> brother-in-law.”</p><p>“One cannot help but wonder if his military upbringing is not to blame. Years spent in exclusively male company might have fanned those latent…”</p><p>“Urges. Yes. However, I did hear my mistress profess that, in spite of everything, he favors his fiancée the most out of all the ladies in court.”</p><p>“Only on account of Lady Henrietta’s resemblance to her frère.”</p><p>“Oh, you devil! She <em>does</em> have an impressive layer of down on her upper lip…”</p><p>“And the absolute squarest of jaws.”</p><p> </p><p class="western">👑</p><p> </p><p>At the party for Fredric’s 20<sup>th</sup> birthday, his engagement to Henrietta – already an open secret for close on a decade – was finally made public. Men shook his hand. Women raised toasts to their happy union, flute glasses ablaze with wine and envy. His parents smiled. <em>Her</em> parents smiled. His aunt made an unkind remark about his weight before appropriating another slice of cake.</p><p>He didn’t see Max, although he looked for him as he made his rounds. Henrietta also shook her head when enquired. At the close of the evening, once the ballroom had expectorated the great majority of its guests, Fredric finally effected an escape – at least long enough to track down his best friend in the nearby drawing room. Max had filched a bottle of wine, which he was currently nursing, while coaxing a parakeet to walk along the railroad of his fingers.</p><p>“I should be able to remember the species,” Fredric teased, “after your exhaustive lectures on the subject.”</p><p>Max stared at him. “Fred.”</p><p>“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, “I will come back for you,” then slunk into the ballroom again for the last leg of the party.</p><p>Max’s bottle was empty by the time he returned. The man scooted a bit to make space for Fredric on the sofa, which he readily accepted. There was no music anymore, but some dregs of conversation still seeped through from the ballroom. The drawing room window looked out on a mess of black foliage, chinked with sky, chinked with stars and planets. They sat in silence for a while, watching the parakeet sway on Max’s index finger.</p><p>“It is… a green-cheeked conure, right?” asked Fredric.</p><p>Max nodded. “He has a very sweet and trusting demeanor.” Wryly: “They always do during the first few years.”</p><p>Fredric narrowed his eyes a little at the hidden message.</p><p>“Where’s Etta?” asked Max, blasé.</p><p>“How should I know?” He swatted a hand vaguely. “She is speaking with my mother, in all probability.”</p><p>At the nadir of its downward arc, that same hand reached stasis on Max’s thigh. The man looked at the door – which Fredric had had the good sense to shut behind him – then back at the hand, as if it might rear up and bite him in the collar. Fredric curled his fingers in such a way that his palm skated higher.</p><p>“Not here,” said Max. “Let’s repair to your quarters.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I feel –” A guffaw that was unmistakably the duke’s echoed from the ballroom. The parakeet chirped in counterpoint. “I feel as though we’re always being watched.”</p><p>The situation developed with some haste, once they were alone. They had not gone beyond kissing in their dalliances until now, but the urgency of their gestures, as they pulled, curled, tugged, untucked, betrayed a new intent now.</p><p>“Fred,” said Max. A warning. By this time, they were down to their shirtsleeves and Fredric had divested himself of his pants.</p><p>“Come on, come on.” His voice came out a little rough. “You’ve been gagging for it, and I – I have been waiting, too…”</p><p>Fredric thumbed Max’s nipples through his shirt, forceful, aggressive even, a man who had already denied himself a minute too long. A minute and several <em>years</em> too long. He watched, fascinated, as the hardened nubs became visible through the slim fabric, like the contours of fruit in a pentimento. The sight egged him on. Clumsy touches became sharp pokes. Pokes became pinches and tweaks, interspersed with a series of slow, luxuriant licks, until Max was babbling <em>stop</em> and <em>more</em> and <em>stop</em> again, unable to decide.</p><p>This time, when Max’s pants were banished to the foot of the bed, not a word of protest was raised. Their labored breathing intimated a stuffy closet, not a palatial chamber with a huge, half-open window, swept and dusted not five hours prior. Still, neither of them wanted to pause. Fredric pulled back and spat, sloppily, into his palm. And again. Something flicked in Max’s eyes.</p><p>“I wish to – I have long thought about…” Fredric swallowed what little spittle still clung to his tongue. “That is to say. I would like to… have you. May I?”</p><p>Max dealt with his dry mouth differently: he licked his lips. “Please.”</p><p>The overbearing attention that Fredric had administered to Max’s nipples was now applied to that tight pucker between his legs. He smeared some of the spit across the rim before pushing the first finger in. A second one followed: a little deeper, a little more enterprising. Through all this, Max was bucking his hips and moaning. Fredric had not yet struck that legendary nerve that would make his lover melt, hadn’t even touched his cock, but Max was already half-hard. Obviously, the sheer <em>thought</em> of this was making him hard: the thought of Fredric preparing him, opening him, fucking into him. Fredric rutted against the mattress in wretched expectation.</p><p>When his prick finally nosed at the hole, it took some effort to work it inside, but Max was patient with him. Gratefully, Fredric rewarded him with a hand around his length. And then they could begin in earnest, pushing and clutching, occasionally adjusting their position: a wrist held down, a leg encouraged over a shoulder. They tried to moderate the amount of noise, but the headboard couldn’t help but cheer them on.</p><p>“Damn it all, Fred,” sobbed Max, in a rare loquacious bent. “Damn, damn, damn, why do I – why do I still –”</p><p>“Me, too,” said Fredric.</p><p>“I <em>want</em> you.” His fingers dug bruises into Fredric’s shoulders, near his neck: a slip of the jabot tomorrow, and there would be hell to pay. “I want no one else.”</p><p>A grunt, and Fredric was spilling into him, thrusting harder, bottoming out, already as close as he could be to another human being and it wasn’t enough: blood might be enough, or a cursed necklace that could bind spirits, or a secret pact. Nevertheless, he put his back into it, shoving his issue as deep in as he could. Max wasn’t far behind, wrapping a hand around Fredric’s, showing him how to coax and stroke, until he groaned and spurted on his own chest.</p><p>Heaven.</p><p>Afterward, Max wiggled in the dark. His mouth was flat – deliberately so, as if invisible strings hung from its edges, drawn taut at the back of his head. “We cannot carry on like this,” he said. “Any respect you’ve secured in the duchy will run to seed if we do. The military chancellery already supplies information to your father, <em>and</em> your mother, and even <em>Lord </em><em>Hübner</em> before they think to approach you.”</p><p>“I don’t give a fig about that.” Fredric stared up at the canopy. Two idle fingers plucked at Max’s brazenly accessible ear. The night sky outside the window was changing hues. “Sometimes I dream about the two of us embarking on an endless hunt on horseback, in a forest.”</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Yes. It would be hushed, and soft underfoot… We could live out the rest of our lives in that manner, moving from place to place, never straying outside of tree cover. I swear I do not need anyone else. We would hunt foxes unceasingly into the future, take shelter under grottos when it rained, and grow old there, together.”</p><p>“Where?” asked Max, indulging him.</p><p>“Böhmerwald.”</p><p>“You would be found out right away,” Max laughed, propping himself up on an elbow, “for the whole court knows you like the Ilz riverside best of anything in the world.”</p><p>Fredric rolled onto his side, Max’s mirror image down to the crook of his knee and the splay of his palm, which was loose and open-fingered, like an anemone. Someone trundled down the hallway. Then a pair – no, a group of people. Adjourning for the night, with a belly full of wine, lighting up their gray matter with fireworks in three colors.</p><p>“The whole court is mistaken,” said Fredric, cupping his lover’s jaw. “I prefer you.”</p><p>The canopy tilted and stirred like a bough in the shadows, secretive, safe.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm <a href="https://enisywrites.tumblr.com/">enisywrites</a> on Tumblr. Come on over if you want to drop me a prompt or a question, or if you just want to say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>